


The Ghosts That Haunt Us

by Canadiantardis



Series: Most Dangerous Series [3]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Achievement Hunter Kings, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Minecraft, Angst, Creeper Gavin, Gen, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mad King Ryan, Minecraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:26:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8698804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canadiantardis/pseuds/Canadiantardis
Summary: A series of one shots with the universe of The Rose is Red, His Rose is Dead and His Mad Game, following the living and the dead, and also some What-if ideas.





	1. Oh No

**Author's Note:**

> Every chapter will have their own warnings and tags, and I'll update the tags after I've uploaded each new chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains: Death and Suicide  
> Also shout-out to LorinaAngelofTheLord for asking the simple question, who dies first, Jack or Michael. Here's your answer!

It happened while Michael was across the kingdom on the orders of the Mad King to keep an eye on some cargo he was giving to Fiacla as some sort of peace offering after finally ending the bloody war between the two kingdoms.

Jack had been working with the Mad King Ryan the whole day, looking through scrolls when he felt something strange in his chest. He rubbed a hand over it, hoping to alleviate the pain but it persisted. He felt his heart stutter, and his breath came quick and shallow as he stumbled to sit down on the simple wooden chair, and got the attention of Ryan, who looked at him, simply curious.

Jack opened his mouth to ask for help, but nothing came out, either because he wasn’t sure what to ask for, or because his lack of enough air was making itself apparent as he couldn’t speak.

The Mad King Ryan simply watched with a curious look on his now-weathered face. It had been thirty years since his reign started, eighteen years since Geoff and the others were murdered, and only a year since Ryan said he was stopping the games when his physician came and told him his aging body was no longer able to handle being on a horse, in armour, hunting or fighting anymore.

Jack opened his mouth again, rubbing and clutching at his chest as if that would remove the discomfort when all of a sudden, what were just spots in his vision suddenly grew, blacking out his entire view of reality, and he knew no more.

Ryan’s eyes narrowed when Jack’s own eyes rolled back into his head, his entire body slumping into the chair, and he stayed where he was for a few seconds before going to his Advisor, looking him over.

The years had not been kind to Jack. His beard was long, tangled, and a dirty sort of gray, along with the rest of his hair, despite him being only a few years younger than Ryan himself. He checked for a pulse, thinking something had made him simply faint, but Ryan frowned when he found no pulse.

He flicked his wrist, muttering “Tosaigh arís” before stepping back, watching the advisor’s body writhe as the magic went throughout his body to find the problem and fix it.

But it was because of his curiosity to watch that led him to waste precious seconds, and the magic fluttered away, unable to fix something that was already unfixable, and even Ryan knew reviving a corpse wasn’t possible.

Turning away from the body of his advisor - his friend, Ryan had begun to think in his aging years, despite the horrors he had subjected Jack to - Ryan called for a couple maids to bring Jack’s corpse out of the room, ordering he was to be buried when Michael returned on Michael's orders.

* * *

 

It seemed like Michael had felt the moment Jack passed away. His heart ached the same way it did when thoughts of a certain blond haired, green-clothed boy he once loved fluttered through his head. The warrior looked around, frowning as he put a hand absently to his heart.

The cargo had just gotten to the border, where the rendez-vous was to take place, because Michael had made it clear he wasn’t leaving Éacht’s borders, ever.

“Thank you for coming all this way, Sir Jones.” It was a young knight of Fiacla that bowed respectfully as he spoke. “You must have all traveled a long way from the castle to get here. Please, rest for an hour or so before departing.”

The knights and other warriors from Éacht looked to Michael, who was the eldest and the one in charge of the group until they returned home. Michael nodded after a moment, rubbing his chest before smiling at the Fiacla knight.

“We can spare an hour or so before returning.” There were breaths of relief on both sides, and the Fiacla knight that had greeted them before formed a fist, putting it over his heart in a standard Fiacla greeting before extending the same hand for Michael to shake.

“I’m Sir Luna, uh Miles Luna. You could call me Miles, if you wish.” The young knight introduced, an easy smile on his face as the two shook hands. “I’ve heard amazing rumours about you, it’s an honour to meet you in the flesh.”

Michael smiled with an effort to look genuine. The aching feeling dissipated a bit and Michael ignored it the best he could, which was pretty good after eighteen years of dealing with it.

The two chatted for a bit, and Michael learned that Miles was actually like a younger version of himself, before The Week of Hell that he had to banish from his memory in order to grow up and survive a few nights without needing Jack’s father-like arms wrapping around him after a night terror - this was only necessary for times like now where he was several long miles away from the capital, from both the Mad King and Michael’s personal protector.

Miles was strong and funny, and from the way he spoke about a young knight-in-training named Kerry, Michael could tell it was similar to him, and he prayed to any and all gods those two didn’t make the same mistakes he and… The same mistakes he had made towards his own past love.

The hour went by quickly after that, and soon the Fiacla knights waved farewell to the other knights and warriors and left with the cargo, while Michael and his knights went back to returning home.

It took three days to return to the castle and Michael could tell the others were as travel weary as he was as they reached the castle gates.

But it didn’t stop him from noticing the rushing maids and other peasants when they caught sight of the old warrior. The poor stableboy looked distressed and for a moment Michael feared the Mad King had returned to choosing victims for the next Game.

Michael dismounted from his horse, a sturdy dark-red-furred mare he named Kazooie, and brushed her mane to calm himself down as he turned to the young man. “Has Jack be notified about our return?”

The stableboy jumped, looking at Michael with huge, huge eyes, and shook his head quickly. Michael frowned but before he could speak the young man stuttered together a sentence. “The K-king requested your pr-presence as s-soon as you re-returned, Sir Jones.”

Michael’s frown deepened but he gave a curt nod and headed off after making sure his stuff would be taken care of. He walked quickly, noting the looks of pity and worry and just plain sadness or scaredness everyone had when they saw him passing by, some maids talking amongst each other with a flurry of hands covering mouths as he got close, tittering like birds when he passed them by.

He reached the throne room, where the Mad King normally was, and entered when the guards recognized him, and he couldn’t help but catch one of them mutter a soft apology before the door was closed quickly after he stepped into the room.

Mad King Ryan was working on some papers, a quill in his hand, twirling it between his fingers as he read some sort of paper, and it was then that Michael noticed the lack of another body, another voice that would normally welcome him within seconds of that door opening.

“Where’s Jack?” Michael asked, his voice no longer as light as it had once been, but now gravelly, like he had eaten only dry foods for years without ever having water. He also did not even care to greet the Mad King in any way, something he had not done since the Week of Hell.

The Mad King looked up and gave a soft sort of sigh, putting his quill down. “He had passed away, Michael. About three days ago his heart stopped. When we realized what happened it was too late to save him.”

Michael stood there, his hands as limp and loose as his hanging mouth, his eyes staring dumbly at the Mad King. He was sure he heard wrong.

At least he was sure until he heard, “I’m sorry, Michael.” Michael’s entire body snapped to attention and he strode forward, stopping just a few steps away from the King.

“What do you mean he passed away? Jack… He can’t be. He _can’t be gone!_ ” Michael cried, feeling a powerful burn in his throat and his eyes blurred for a moment.

“I ordered him to be prepared for a proper burial at your consent.” Ryan said, standing from his seat, looking down at Michael with an unreadable expression, or maybe just unreadable to Michael, who had never seen such a human expression on the Mad King’s face before.

“Let me see him.” Michael ordered, his gaze lost but his voice hard.

Ryan nodded and led Michael to where the morgue was, and along the way a small following came after the two, keeping a large berth from them but close enough to see where they were going.

Michael walked right into the room, the coldest part of the castle, looking around before the man in charge of the morgue stepped forward, gesturing to a table with a white silken sheet lay draped over a body. If Michael tried to think properly, he would have been surprised Jack’s body was given the luxury of being covered by a white silk sheet, only normally used for lords and ladies, and of course the King when he would die.

But he simply walked towards the covered body and lifted the sheet to reveal Jack’s face, not yet rotting, and simply looking like he was asleep, besides the crease in his eyebrows as if he was in some sort of mild discomfort. Michael reached forward, touching Jack’s cheek to feel it was ice cold to the touch, too cold for a person to be alive, and Michael broke.

His legs gave out, hand dropping from Jack’s face heavily as he fell to his knees and his mind went white. He wasn’t sure if he was just crying, or screaming, or both and he felt like he was falling, falling, falling.

* * *

 *3 Weeks Later*

Michael stayed around for the funeral. He watched as at least three quarters of the castle came out, all wearing something orange, from a hairclip to a shirt or pants, as it was customary when grieving a dead one to wear a colour they wore a lot, or were associated with. He watched as Jack’s body was carefully placed into the ground, and watched as he was buried into the earth. He watched as maids cried freely, as young scholars’ faces scrunched up in pain as they tried not to cry. He watched as newcomers arrived, even shocked to see Kings Burnie and Adam appear with an orange handkerchief wrapped around their left biceps each.

He watched as Ryan began to give a speech, before slipping away, already with a goal in mind. He had written his final note, had left his room - their room, it had been for the past sixteen years - wide open for anyone to notice, the note stuck to the door by his dagger. Now he walked to the highest tower, ignoring all the guards, even ignoring some voices he was sure sounded achingly familiar until he reached the edge of the tower, looking down. It was a long fall, and in the back of his mind he saw another body fall, but that body had magic and was able to stop the fall into a light stumble. But Michael had no magic, nor did he want any to stop this fall.

He stepped forward onto air, hearing screams from both the living and the dead, and closed his eyes tightly, feeling the wind whip through him.

Then finally blessed blackness.

_I'm gonna live, I'm gonna fly  
I'm gonna fail, gonna die, die, die, die _

Chapter done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to this! It's been a while, huh? School's been killer but done for the semester! And that means back to writing!  
> Anyway, ya'll can still give prompts or things you wanted to see in His Mad Game that I never wrote(pst, this includes what-ifs)  
> Next chapter should be a lot nicer than this, look forward to it!


	2. Sad Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains: Reference of nightmares, Implied PTSD, cuddling, bittersweet fluff

The first time it happened, everyone thought it was just that, a one-time thing, or maybe it would be better when the young Creepling got used to the castle again.

But it didn’t, and in the middle of the night, Michael and young Jeremy, not even well into adolescence, were both woken up by Dan, an older guard assigned to protect Gavin during the nights.

“He keeps calling for someone to sleep with him, saying it would make him calm down from whatever night terrors are plaguing him. Allan and I asked if we should ask for anyone in specific and within the clicks he made, Allan said he heard friends.” Dan said, running a hand through his hair tiredly.

“He just wants someone to be in the room with him to help him sleep? They haven’t gone away?” Michael asked, still a bit groggy from the wake-up call well into the middle of the night.

Dan nodded, and then both older boys saw Jeremy raise his hand slowly, looking awkward. “I-I could look after him. Michael has early morning duties, don’t you?” He looked over at the warrior-in-training as he asked the question.

Michael barely thought about it, and shook his head quickly with a tired smile. “Nah, I do but I can easily look after Gavvy. Maybe if things get worse, all three of us could spend the night in a room, like… Like some sort of slumber party or some shit.” The three boys chuckled quietly, knowing many others might be light sleepers and hear them.

Jeremy smiled lopsidedly at Michael before nodding. “Yeah, sure thing.”

“You should get back to bed, then, Squirt.” Michael smiled at the mock offended look Jeremy gave at the nickname his brother, Gavin and Michael called him, before smiling again and nodding, heading back down the hallway to his chambers, leaving Michael and Dan in the main hallway.

“Alright, let’s go. Allan can only keep him calm alone in the night for so long.” Dan said, turning to guide Michael to Gavin’s chambers.

Along the way Michael had to stop himself from smiling. Although it wasn't the way he thought it would go, sleeping in Gavin’s bed, alone with just the two of them, was something he was sure would lead to more, better things. Sure it wasn’t the way to court someone, but those ways were boring and old-fashioned in the young warrior-in-training’s mind. This way, Gavin would be sure to see Michael as his own personal protector, his very presence able to banish any night terror from his mind.

The two reached Gavin’s chambers and found Gavin and Allan talking in quiet whispers on the much-too-large bed the Creepling had. The two went silent when Michael and Dan entered the room and if Michael had been more awake, he would have wanted to know what they were talking about. But as it stood, he didn’t much care besides shuffling into that large bed, wrapping his arms around the Creepling, and promising to protect him from any of the terrors of the night that dare to come near him.

Allan smiled when the two entered and stood up, giving Gavin’s arm one last squeeze before walking towards the others. “You’ll see Gav,” He spoke over his shoulder, “In a month’s time you’ll be feeling just like your old self.”

Gavin nodded, his scarf off so the young warrior could see he was smiling worriedly at Michael when the two guards left the room, closing the door behind them to resume standing guard. He waved, looking unsure and almost yelping when Michael went over to clamber onto the bed.

“Sorry, Gavvy.” Michael used the nickname affectionately, his sleepiness making him sound more child-like than he thought he sounded. “C’mon asshole, let’s get some sleep.”

Gavin chirped in Creeper language, although some Human words were spoken, as he grabbed his knees and drew them tightly against his chest. Michael heard 'Ray', 'Isle', and 'Red', but pushed the disturbing thoughts away. Despite burning with questions on what happened during the long week everything happened, no one could get an answer from either King Ryan or Gavin, even after a month since whatever actually happened had occurred.

Michael sighed, reaching out and taking Gavin’s shoulders gently, tilting him until the Creepling’s half-covered head was resting on his shoulder, and his body slowly relaxed. Michael did nothing besides give physical warmth and comfort to the Creepling until he felt more comfortable.

It took a while but soon both teens were able to lay down on the bed, Michael wrapping his arms around the other and pulling him close until it was almost like they were chest-to-chest with Gavin lightly wrapping his own arm around Michael as if he were a lifeline.

It took even longer for Gavin to fall asleep, but finally he did and Michael looked down at the Creepling’s mostly covered face, remembering that wonderful time, a few months before the Creepling and Ray and Lindsay had been taken to the ‘game’ or whatever Ryan called it, when he and Ray had been privileged enough to see Gavin’s face without any of his coverings, and wondered briefly when the next time he would be able to see those beautiful eyes again, clear of any obstacle.

With those thoughts trailing along through his head, Michael leant his forehead forward, touching the top of Gavin’s head as he shut his eyes, smiling softly as he drifted off to sleep.

It soon became a thing between the two of them, Michael sleeping in Gavin’s room when he would have his worst night terrors and the two ending up twined together like Fate herself had arranged them like so. But every morning Michael would wake up first, detangling the two of them from Fate’s handiwork with the constant excuse of going about his morning duties. And it would continue like this, for ten years, until the morning when King Ryan truly became the Mad King in the young warrior's eyes.

_You're my favourite part of me_  
_With you standing next to me_  
_I've got nothing to fear_

Chapter done!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember this song name? I think I accidentally made it the Mavin song because it fits them so well in this series. Both for fluff like this, and angst like what Michael does to Gavin in HMG.  
> Next chapter will be a What-if alternate ending to His Mad Game, how I actually was planning on ending the fic.


	3. Requiem for a Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major character death, minor violence.

Jack was sure he was going to fall over and his entire disguise would crumble from around him. He had made himself a safe little tree skin to cover up in the middle of an unknown forest on an unknown island, in the hopes he wouldn’t be seen by Ryan.

It was on the fourth day that led to his downfall.

Jack had tried to ration his food as best he could to last the five days they were meant to stay trapped on the islands with the man who they all thought had been their friend. But maybe it was because of his boredom, or the fact he lost track of the days quickly, hiding behind the skin of a tree, and he soon found himself with only half a piece of food that wouldn’t last past the night.

Jack went quiet as he listened out for any noises close to his hiding spot before releasing the woodland magic, looking around as soon as he was able to, and walking quickly to hide in the large shadows of the trees surrounding him.

It was okay, for a time, as Jack hunted for anything small, or even look for berries when he heard the distinct _crack_ of a foot stepping on and breaking a branch. His breath caught in his throat, Jack stood still, glad his clothes were matching with the surrounding area to camouflage himself well.

His undoing was believing the sight before him was a safe sight.

Michael wandered like a lost lamb, his gaze on the horizon but not looking at anything in particular. He looked like the walking dead, and it frightened Jack to see the man who had always been so full of life seem so broken.

“Michael.” He called quietly, but his voice travelled far enough away to be heard by the young warrior, who snapped his head up and Jack noticed a strange black - almost purple - collar-type thing around his neck when he did so.

Michael didn’t speak, but his lips moved as if trying to saying Jack’s name, and before the advisor could move, Michael launched himself the several yards between them into Jack’s chest, his entire body shaking like a leaf.

“Woah, woah, Michael. It’s okay.” Jack spoke softly, knowing they were still in danger, but he couldn’t stand by and let Michael shake until he melted into a puddle. He wrapped his arms around the younger man, rubbing Michael’s back comfortingly. “What’s wrong?”

Words tumbled out of Michael’s mouth like a waterfall. “He’s dead, Jack. I couldn’t, he wouldn’t let me, I didn’t want to. I couldn’t save him, Jack.” His voice choked, wobbling unsteadily until Jack felt damp spots appear on his shoulder where Michael hid his face. “He made me… I didn’t want to, I would never hurt him, Jack. He’s dead, Jack, he’s dead he’s dead he’s fucking dead.”

Jack frowned, tightening his arms around the warrior as he sobbed. “Who’s dead, Michael?”

“Ga-Gavin.” The words sounded like they caused Michael physical harm and Jack’s eyes widened. “He’s gone and, and, and I never got to, to, to kiss him. I waited too fucking long, Jack. He’s, he’s gone and I can’t.”

The words seemed to have gotten stuck in Michael’s throat as he seemed to choke on his own tongue. Jack’s expression softened, understanding the other man’s pain. He kept the warrior close to him, whispering soothing words.

This was his undoing.

Both men were too preoccupied with the knowledge that Gavin had been killed that neither heard the sound of a diamond sword being taken out of it’s sheath, or the _shwing_ of it slashing the back of Jack’s legs.

Jack let out a cry of pain, and almost missed the “Good job distracting him, my Mogar” as Ryan came into Jack’s line of sight, Michael backpedalling wildly.

Michael’s face was that of pure terror, his eyes puffy and his face red and tearstained. “No, please!”

Ryan waved a hand and said something in the language of magic, and suddenly Michael’s jaw snapped shut, like he had been turned into a lifeless doll with the strings just being cut off. “You have done well, Jack. I didn’t think I would find you.”

Jack took a few deep breaths through his teeth, the pain in the back of his legs immense. “Meant to have kept it that way.” He glared at Ryan. “So. What now?”

“So straight to the point, Jack.” Ryan smiled, but there was no emotion in his eyes. In fact, if Jack looked closely, he would have seen almost a bit of sadness hidden behind the cracked ice that was his eyes. “I had wanted to attempt a real duel, but I seemed to have made that impossible, huh?”

Jack glowered, his top lip curling into a snarl. “Yeah, right. You fucking did this on purpose.”

Ryan shrugged. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. Either way, it happened.” Ryan took a step towards Jack, his sword held loosely in his hand by his side. “You know, I actually had been rooting for you to survive, Jack.

“Guess I’ll have to start looking for a new Advisor when I return to the capital.”

* * *

 

Jeremy had spent the rest of the time hiding out in his various towers of earth, pleased with himself that he hadn’t been caught by the Mad King since the conversation they had had that one time.

He smiled to himself when the sun started to go down on the fifth day. He had done it, he had survived. But the smile slipped when he remembered the others who had never been this lucky, of Matt, and he wondered what the kingdom would have been like if Ryan had never been the King, what he and Matt would be doing right now.

He shook the thoughts away, feeling his throat tighten at the thought of his best friend. It had been so long now, Jeremy was starting to forget what Matt looked like. He imagined a long, dark-haired man, much taller than him if his memory was correct, with such a stupid, infectious laugh, that had Jeremy been into men, he would have fallen hard for him, but his face, his complexion, even his personality were all a blur to him now.

Again, Jeremy shook his head, harder this time. He really needed to not dwell on these kinds of things now. When he was back home, safe, then maybe he could allow himself to remember or something but until he was safe - or dead, a traitorous part of his mind whispered - he couldn’t dwell on the dead.

But he had survived the five days, and with the sun setting, he allowed himself a relieved smile, before it slipped at the thought of who might have died. He still clearly remembered that howl on the third morning, that scream of terror the first night, and wondered if anyone had died without making a single sound.

Jeremy pushed that questioning thought to the back of his mind quickly as he jumped off his little tower of dirt, casting the featherfall spell to slow his descent so he wouldn’t die on impact. He remembered they were meant to meet where they had been cast off at the beginning of the five days and jogged there.

When he reached the beach, he saw Michael and the Mad King sitting on a couple large rocks by the shore, both heads turning when they heard Jeremy approach. Michael gave a silent cry as he jumped from his place and ran to Jeremy, sending them both tumbling into the coarse sand.

Jeremy quickly wrapped his arms around the older warrior, a little confused but happy to see a friendly face. “Michael, you’re okay!”

Michael didn’t answer, just slowly squeeze Jeremy tighter, as if any looser Jeremy would turn into a puff of smoke and disappear. Jeremy helped the two of them up, with their arms wrapped around the other and as Michael ducked his head onto Jeremy’s shoulder, the younger looked around the area, a feeling of dread sinking into his gut.

“Michael, do you think the others made it?” He asked quietly.

The Mad King chuckled at the question, apparently able to hear them, and Jeremy’s eyes flicked angrily over to the King’s.

“It is time to leave I suppose. I cannot say I’m _happy_ about this outcome, but I must follow my own rules.” He stood up, back straight, and extended his arms as if welcoming a guest to his castle, or offering an embrace. “Congratulations, boys. I do hope you had fun playing this little game with me. I know I certainly did.”

Chapter done!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!  
> Well, here is what I originally had planned to have happen: Jack dying last and having the two young warriors surviving. Ya know, I think I'm happy with the other ending but man is this ending just as sad.  
> Next chapter will hopefully answer some questions ya'll had about a certain King.


	4. Carne Vale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. School and other smaller fics distracted me, haha.  
> There are no real warnings for this chapter, so there's that.

Centuries after the rule of High King Geoffrey, after the tyranny of Mad King Ryan, a legend began to go around the kingdom of Éacht on the reasoning for such a mad and vile king after such a long period of grace upheld by the High King before him. Some say he was born with the villain’s mind but the body of a kind soul, others say a devil had possessed his body the moment he arrived to the castle.

Still others believe he was simply mad, for who wouldn’t be mad if they hunted other humans for sport, laughing all the while?

Some have gotten close to the truth, others could not be farther away.

For, you see, it all started with his birth.

There were superstitions about a child’s birth and the weather they were birthed under. A happy and joyful life for any child born under the happy sun beams with only a hint of a breeze, a sad but pleasant life for a child born under clouds that promised rain.

But the biggest superstition was that if a child was born under the heavy, devastatingly cold snowstorms, they would be cursed to be strange, twisted in some way.

And yet, on one fateful winter’s night, in the middle of a snowstorm, a child was born, his eyes the same colour of the ice outside the small house, his hair the colour of the sun during the wintertime. The family this young boy was born to was poor, and despite knowing the myths, hoped for their child to become great, and thus he was named Ryan, after a King of Old, the Littlest King Ryan.

While his family hoped for the best, news spread quickly throughout the small village Ryan was born in, and families kept their children away from the cursed boy as he grew up. For who would want a friend who was born under cursed weather?

So Ryan grew up alone, with not even siblings to keep him company as his mother got sick not soon after Ryan was barely a year old. The boy tried to live happily with what he had, but things only got worse for the young future king.

There was another superstition around this time, many years before the law came around calling for the people to calm, about magic and mages. People would whisper that if anyone had magic, or could perform feats that could not be explained, they would be shunned, feared, or driven out. All magic was evil, the people would cry out in the center of towns, in public places where others would walk around, And if any knew how to use it were the devils themselves!

And as luck would have it, young Ryan found himself in possession of such magic. He would make flowers bloom wherever he went, simple white flowers that created a beautiful smell in his wake, before dying almost as soon as he left, or he would make objects float, helping around the house with the items even his father could no longer carry.

Ryan lived in the village until his teens hearing those rumours, feeling the stones hurl against his back, almost as painful as the words hurled to his face as he walked by with his father.

That was, until the law, made by the new King Ramsey, a young boy only a few years older than Ryan himself at the time, where magic was no longer to be discriminated against, and when Ryan had heard this news, his heart swelled. He thought, _ yes, maybe this will finally be the time I will be accepted. Maybe I will no longer be looked at like a freak. _

Sadly this did not happen, and Ryan was soon driven out of his village after his poor father died of an unknown reason.

“Magic!” The villagers cried, shaking their fists, and soon their pitiful farming tools, at the young man. “The devil is in him! He killed his own father! Out with the devil! Out!”

So Ryan wandered, for months until he found another village, where magic came in abundance. Ryan would see men, women, and children perform spells, saying words in a tongue almost long since forgotten. He would stay at this village for years, honing his skills, before wandering again and gaining the reputation of a wandering Vagabond mage, which then became the most powerful mage in the land.

And this certainly caught the attention of the King, who discovered his own daughter was dying without knowing why.

Ryan had been surprised, but agreed to help the King, for the King was the one who had decreed magic to not be evil, and was more than willing to prove it to the entire kingdom, hell, the entire world.

It was during his travels that changed the young man.

He had been maybe a couple day’s ride from the castle, able to make the time set for him, when he came upon a psychic telling fortunes to those who would pay a couple coins. She had caught sight of him and had all but pulled him towards her.

“Young man! Your aura, it is so powerful.” She began, her voice creaky like wood. “I bet for a spare coin we will be able to see just how powerful it is.”

Ryan didn’t want to spend much time, but the woman seemed kind, if a bit odd, so he agreed for his fortune to be told.

“Yes, I see…” She croaked, stroking his palm as she read it. “Oh, sweet dear, you have been forced to live an awful life… Born under cursed weather, son of a mage. Yet you are still hopeful, yes?”

Ryan frowned but nodded. “I won’t let my background dictate who I will become.”

“Noble, very noble.” A wrinkled hand slid over a crease in his hand. “I do not see any marriages, but… I do see greatness, and power. So much power.” The psychic looked into his eyes, a spark of magic hidden behind her pale green eyes. “One must be wary with power. A weak mind will become corrupt.”

Ryan had laughed at that. He knew he was smart, and strong of will. He assured the psychic he would not fall into the hands of corrupt power.

He went off on his way after paying the old woman, but his mind stayed.  _ Was he of weak mind? _ He certainly didn’t think so.

But we can all see how that turned out.

He arrived at the castle, rushing to see the young princess, laying on her bed with a sickness so bad Ryan had no idea what to do. He performed everything he thought would help, but she only got weaker.

It had pained him to go to the King and tell him it would be impossible to save her. He watched as the King shed his royal air in a split second, a hand coming over his mouth and his eyes squeezing shut as if to block out the world around him. His Advisor, a young man with the start of a ginger beard, went to comfort him, looking at Ryan apologetically.

Ryan looked on in sympathy, watching as a father realized he was unable to protect his child.

It is odd that power corrupts so quickly, that Ryan would soon not care about the pain King Ramsey suffered.

Maybe Ryan took to his Games for fun after becoming corrupt, maybe he took to them as a way to appease his inner demons, for not being able to save the princess, so now he would never save another person again.

But one thing is for certain. After the death of Princess Millie, Ryan and all the kingdom were never the same again.

Chapter done!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This lore was a bitch to write.  
> I don't think this really answered much of your questions why Ryan became the Mad King, but long story short, power made him go literally mad. His magic, mixed with the curses he was born with, made him susceptible to corruption.  
> The next chapter will follow a spin off of, what if Jeremy had been the one to be collared instead of Michael  
> Don't know when that'll be, so look forward to it when it comes~


	5. Mad Hatter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have returned from the grave  
> Contains: Major Character death, descriptions of violence  
> Enjoy~

It happened while Jeremy was hunting.

He had been focused on the sounds of the forest that surrounded him, keeping his crappy sword in hand as he stalked his prey. He hadn’t been aware of anything outside of him and the rabbit he stalked until the creature bolted, as if suddenly hearing something and running.

Jeremy cursed, before jumping at the feeling of a sword tip pressing into the middle of his back.

“You should work on your cloaking, Little One.” A deep voice, similar to Jack’s in timber, sounded amused from behind Jeremy, and the young warrior paled.

“If… If you’re going to kill me, do it.” Jeremy tried to keep his voice from shaking, but all he could think about was how he would never find a woman, that he’d never see his friends or parents again.

The voice laughed, a deep rumble that grew in a couple octaves. “What makes you think I will kill you?”

Jeremy’s face scrunched and he twisted his head to see the man who still held the sword, shining blue in the dying light. “What do you want?”

Ryan laughed, his cracked blue eyes seeming mirthful. “I was going to save this for Mogar, but you are equal in his strength. This will work nicely.” He kept the sword pointed at Jeremy as he held up a black, almost purple, collar-type device that sent chills down Jeremy’s spine. “And you should know the law. I may create one or two minions if I so wish. You are to be one.”

Jeremy wanted to bolt like the rabbit had several minutes ago, but found himself rooted in place. He couldn’t move as Ryan snapped the collar around his neck, the weight of the collar heavy, and it sent shocks through his system.

“Now we are linked mentally. You will be my siren. If you try to hide one of the others from me, I will know, and you will be punished.”

“Punished? What could be worse than death?” Jeremy demanded when Ryan took the sword from his back, turning to face him completely.

Ryan’s smile split his face. “I don’t think you would like to know what I will do to you and whomever you tried to hide.”

Jeremy felt another chill pass down his back and he looked away from Ryan.

“Now go, and find the others, siren. Divide and conquer and all that.” The King chuckled as if he had made a joke, waving a hand dismissively before walking away from the warrior.

Once he was certain Ryan was truly gone, Jeremy felt his legs give out from under him and his hands went up to the collar around his neck. It was heavy, not just from the material, but what was also imbued within it. He felt the electricity crackle across his fingertips as they brushed the outside of the collar, unable to feel the seam.

“Damnit…” He cursed, dropping his hand. He couldn’t try to use his own magic on the collar, not when he knew Ryan was a master mage compared to his shitty abilities. He also had no idea what would happen if he even attempted to magic the collar off him.

Jeremy looked around, thoughts of finding more food for him and the other lads gone.

Then he bolted up, breath catching. He couldn’t return to the two now, not without letting Ryan know where they were and kill them both. But he couldn’t just not return to them, they would think he was killed.

Groaning, Jeremy punched the nearest tree, immediately regretting it as his felt bark bite his soft flesh, leaving splinters.

“Fuck!” He cried, cradling his hand and checking it over. “Today just can’t get any better…”

* * *

 

“This is hardly a challenge.” Ryan smiled up at Michael, his sword tip breaking skin, causing the warrior to gasp.

“Really?  _ This _ isn’t a challenge?” He grit his teeth, unable to hide his anger and fear. He could only hope that Gavin got far enough away. “You try to be one of the survivors then. See how challenging it can be.”

“Such hostility towards your king, Mogar.” The Mad King shook his head sadly, digging his sword a bit deeper into the small wound.

Michael gasped in pain, face scrunching up and fists by his sides. “Does this make you happy? Killing the people who trusted you?”

Ryan paused then, allowing Michael to open an eye. He had a look of true sadness behind cracked ice that were his eyes. The young warrior hadn’t seen such emotion from the older man since he had been a teenager a decade ago.

“Ryan, why are you doing this?” Michael digged a bit, hoping for some real humanity in the Mad King.

Ryan pulled the sword away from the warrior. “You wouldn’t understand. None of you would.”

Michael opened his mouth to argue when he felt something hit his abdomen, just under his ribs, and he tasted blood. His legs gave out in shock, but he stood standing by the sword in him and Ryan’s strength.

But soon even the Mad King let his subject fall, head whacking against the tree that was behind him and he knew nothing more.

Ryan watched the warrior bleed out, his breath rattling as blood filled his lungs before turning back, ready to look for the remaining two.

 

__ You think I'm crazy, you think I'm gone  
So what if I'm crazy? All the best people are  
And I think you're crazy too, I know you're gone  
__ That's probably the reason that we get along

Chapter done.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was a request, and I decided to put it into 2 parts. Mad Hatter and the next chapter, Dollhouse will be fun. The request was for Jeremy to be the one caught instead of Michael.  
> Sadly, Dollhouse will also be the last chapter. I don't want to leave this thing not finished for too long


	6. Dollhouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Character Death, violence

Jeremy spent the rest of the days praying to the gods that he wouldn’t meet up with anyone, and until day four, he had been successful. He hadn’t seen anyone.

Until he ran into Gavin.

The older lad was shaking, seemingly going out of his mind, his eyes cracked much like Ryan’s but for a very different reason, and his entire frame vibrating from possibly fright. But it melted the moment he recognized Jeremy.

When Gavin relaxed in the younger warrior’s grip, the younger froze up, eyes wide and fearful.

“Jeremy, you’re here, you’re alive!” The half-creeper cried in a rush of air, hugging him tightly. “I, I, when you never came back, we were so worried. Michael, Michael…”

“Michael?” Jeremy questioned, fearing the answer.

“He… He died, I… I saw his body the other day.” Gavin seemed to buck, putting a hand to his mouth. “What was left. The bloody animals…”

Jeremy shook his head, not wanting the image any longer in his mind and the half-creeper went silent, looking down at the younger.

“I just…” He trailed off, frowning when he seemed to notice something. “What is that?”

Without looking at where Gavin was pointing, Jeremy tapped the collar, looking pained. “Please run. In any direction. I can’t get it off, there’s magic.”

Just then, he heard a laugh in his head and he felt his heart seize. Jeremy pushed Gavin away and turned around. “I don’t want you to get caught, just go!”

He heard stumbling before the sounds of running feet, going far from where he was, and it was only then that the warrior felt something splash his hands. But he said nothing, covering his mouth as the tears rolled.

_ “Track him.” _ The orders were loud and commanding in his head, but he knew it was magic coming from the collar, and he resisted.

“I’m not doing shit for you. I saw him, I am not doing anything else.” He hissed to the voice.

A sharp spark of electricity hit him, making the young warrior shout in pain and grab his neck.

_ “You will obey. Not even mages can disobey me.” _ The voice demanded before he found himself walking without wanting to move.

“No, stop, please!”

_ “Track him and do not let him go.” _

* * *

 

Gavin met the same fate as Michael had the first night, while Jeremy was forced to hold him down. Gavin’s last sight was the young warrior’s eyes, filled with tears and despair as the creepling took his last breath, both wishing they could have done something differently.

After Gavin was killed, the Mad King let him go, off to search for the last remaining prey to hunt. Jeremy spent the time laying Gavin down, keeping the hood firmly over the half-creeper’s face in respect.

On the end of the final day, Jack and Jeremy were the two final survivors.

They were the final survivors as the following year, while the Mad King planned his next Game, Jeremy and Jack began a resistance within the castle itself. So when the Mad King went off to hunt, the resistance took control of the castle.

It was decided Jack would take the crown when they defeated the Mad King despite his age. The advisor originally argued, protesting that someone young should take it, that he wouldn’t have many years to live, but when it was put to a vote, he was forced to agree to the position.

They created a trap, separating Ryan from those few loyal guards, and everything went to plan.

“What is the meaning of this?” He demanded, staring at the two survivors, unable to move thanks to a spell Jeremy worked on. “This is treason, you both will be executed.”

“Not if you are no longer in power, Mad King.” Jack spoke with a hard voice, stepping forward with his battle ax.

“Stop this instant!” The Mad King struggled against the magical bonds holding him down.

“This is for all those innocent lives you’ve murdered.” Jack declared, raising the ax high in the air. “May you find atonement for the crimes you’ve committed.”

Jeremy looked away as the ax fell, releasing the spell at the final moment.

Finally, the kingdom of Éacht was free of the tyranny of the Mad King.

__  
Everyone thinks that we're perfect  
Please don't let them look through the curtains.  
D-O-L-L-H-O-U-S-E  
I see things that nobody else sees.

Story done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the best ending, but it's an ending. Sorry if it wasn't all that good but I didn't want to leave this fic hanging for much longer.


End file.
